


I Hope You Lie

by dizzzylu



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: "You think that we don't notice?" William asks. "How you take care of us, how you take the blame for us. We notice, Kyle.Inotice."





	I Hope You Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hierodule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierodule/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Hierodule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hierodule/pseuds/Hierodule) in the [PuckingRare2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Dubas and any (or all) of the young guns on the leafs? I notice that Dubas is very good at handling the press when Willy and Mathews get criticized and like, I love the idea that they are in love with his competence and how he is willing to make promises and protect them, and they want to appreciate him back?
> 
> : : :
> 
> Thank you to Caz for the quick read-through and relentless cheerleading. Thank you for existing, to be quite honest. I love talking hockeys with you.
> 
> I'll admit, dipping my toe into Leafs fandom is very intimidating. I can usually handle constructive criticism, just be kind about it. If you hate this, blame Nichole. She FORCED me to claim this prompt. She threatened my CAT*!!! I had no choice!!!!

After a day like today, Kyle should be home, eating dinner and catching up on non-Leafs news, but he can't quite make himself leave. It might have something to do with the drizzle outside, how the clouds look like Kyle feels on the inside: empty and frustrated. He sighs and takes a sip of his scotch, his gaze drawn to the window while his mind slogs through what comes next; where he has to go, what needs to be done, who he'll be speaking with. It's exhaustion more than the alcohol tripping him up, both physical and emotional. The playoff rush coming to a halt so quick, leaving everyone disappointed and spiraling. Being the face of the franchise, the boss, Kyle has to tuck it away, has to put on a brave face, to help the rest of the team hold it together. To keep the headlines from being too negative, too devastating. It's a lot when all he wants to do is sleep for twenty-four hours straight, maybe get out of Toronto for a week. But no, Kyle has a job to do. A whole city to provide for. So he'll sip his scotch and brood for a little bit, then get back up and start again.

The soft scuff of feet at the door draws Kyle from his thoughts and he glances up to find the ice blue eyes of William Nylander staring back at him.

"William," Kyle says with a nod. "I thought you'd all be gone by now."

"They are," William says, stepping into Kyle's office. "I just—" He sketches out a vague gesture with his elegant hands. "I wasn't ready to leave yet, I guess. Been wandering around the arena, talking to people." He lifts one shoulder, his mouth curved into the ghost of a smile. Kyle knows how William feels; it's half the reason Kyle's still in his office, trying to scrape together an excuse to go home already. 

"Actually," William says, coughing to clear his throat. "I'm glad I found you."

"Oh?" Kyle says, shifting to cross his left leg over his right. He takes another sip of his scotch and motions for William to come into the office, to have a seat in the chair across from Kyle. After carefully closing the door, William approaches the desk, half-sits on the edge with his legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. It makes him seem young for all of a second, small and sad, until he lifts his head and drops his shoulders, looking as regal as he ever does. Kyle wants to look away but he can't, captivated even now, after this wretched, miserable day.

"I saw your exit interview," William starts, tapping Kyle's shoe with one antsy foot. "I wanted to come by and say thank you."

Kyle glances down at his knees and shakes his head. "You don't have to thank me," he says, resisting the urge to swallow down the rest of his drink. He sets the glass on the table next to the sofa instead and immediately regrets it; his hands feel too empty, too awkward without it.

"You should know by now, I've never been about 'have to.'"

Kyle sighs and nods. Says, "That's kinda how we got into this mess, isn't it?" and immediately regrets it. "I'm sorry, that's not fair."

"You're not entirely wrong," William says, low. A thread of regret woven through. It's not something Kyle's ever heard from William before and it hurts in that way Kyle tries not to think about. William is a force of nature; young and arrogant, hungry and driven. He should only ever sound vital and alive. Playful. Brilliant. 

"But I'm not entirely right either," Kyle sighs, uncrossing his legs so he can lean forward, elbows on his knees. It brings him within touching distance of William, but gives him an excuse not to look at his face, the distracting slope of his nose and his bright, piercing eyes. "You wanted what you deserved, _I_ wanted to give you that. I just…" He waves a hand, hoping it encompasses what he doesn't know how to put into words: the fear of screwing up his first big re-signing, how he might've let his low-simmering attraction compromise his judgment. 

Kyle's eyes fall closed and he pushes up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He shouldn't be here, should've left for home after he finished up his phone interviews. At the very least, not indulged in the scotch. He feels so tired and soft, all of his edges fuzzy enough that he doesn't startle when cool fingers wrap around his free wrist, giving it a squeeze. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry we made it hard for you," William says, close and quiet. Kyle's eyes slit open enough to see the shadow of William on his knees, in between Kyle's feet. It's a scene he's imagined a dozen times in his head, maybe more. He sucks in a breath and tilts back, trying to put some space between them. What it does instead is make room for William to shuffle forward, his shoulders nudging apart Kyle's knees, while the retreat of Kyle's wrist draws him close. 

Too late, Kyle twists his hand out of William's grip. "William, please." William's palms are warm on Kyle's thighs, so heavy and wide, but it leaves nowhere for Kyle to put his own hands without touching William. He folds them together behind his neck, forcing his head forward so he can go back to avoiding eye contact.

"You think that we don't notice?" William asks. "How you take care of us, how you take the blame for us. We notice, Kyle. _I_ notice."

"That's my job, William," Kyle sighs

"Is it? Really?" His thick fingers give Kyle's thighs a firm squeeze. "I don't seen anybody else falling on their sword for their team. For fucked up contracts or bad tra—"

"I'm not gonna _be_ like them," Kyle grunts, hands falling into his lap. "I can't be." For a moment, Kyle forgets himself and darts a glance at William's face. His eyes are dark and intent, with a hint of knowing pity. It's the most frustrating thing about William. Coming from the family he does, growing up the way he has, he recognizes the stakes more than most people his age. It'd be a lot easier for Kyle to resist if William was just any other twenty-three year old in the league, invincible and starry-eyed by turns. 

"You _aren't_ like them," William says, his hands inching up Kyle's thighs. 

Kyle should say something, get up from the couch, force some distance, but he's just so goddamn tired. Tired and frustrated and annoyed, if he's perfectly honest. And the weight of William's hands on his thighs, how close they are to Kyle's dick, feels so damn good. Something inside of Kyle is turning over, slow and inexorable. Something he's been holding back for longer than he wants to think about. 

But Kyle is nothing if not practical, as business-like as possible in the face of this level of temptation. He lays a hand over William's, clears his throat, and says, "Thank you for stopping by, William. Thank you for trying to help. I appreciate it, really." He tries to keep his voice steady, but there's a quivering in his stomach that he can't tamp down, and his fingers give William's a reflexive squeeze.

William studies Kyle for a long moment, his breathing deep and even. And then his mouth quirks up and his eyes turn playful, his palms skimming up and up, until they reach Kyle's waist. "I didn't come up here just to _say_ 'thank you,'" he says, teasing. 

"William," Kyle rasps out, confused for three whole seconds. Until he feels William's hands coming together, those nimble fingers reaching for Kyle's buckle, the button on his pants. Kyle sucks in a breath and blinks; his brain is a complete blank, spinning in circles as he tries to remember all the reasons why he shouldn't allow this, the exact combination of words to put off William without either of them losing any pride. What it does instead is cycle through years of interactions, the low-simmering flirtation they've hinted at over and over again. It plays all the fantasies Kyle's ever had of William on his knees — several of them right here in this office — in 4K quality video. 

And Kyle, after a day like to day, a month like they've had, is just exhausted enough to be needy and careless.

He watches William's hands unbuckle his belt, unbutton his pants, and pull down the zipper. Each action feels drawn out, time stretching and warping inside his office. "Are you sure?" he hears himself say, voice sounding high and reedy, frayed and eager. 

William shuffles closer, his ridiculous shoulders snugging up tight in the space between Kyle's legs. "Are _you_?" One eyebrow quirks up as his knuckles give Kyle's dick a firm, brief press, and then William's eyes drop to track his progress. 

"William," Kyle sighs, hands coming up to scrub at his cheeks, anything to distract him from the raw determination on William's face. He forgets about his glasses until he knocks them askew. His fingers fumble for the arm, to take them off and set them on the table next to him. It'll give everything a soft, blurry edge, take away some of the sharp focus, but that could be a good thing.

At least until William snaps, "Leave them on," and waits, expectant, while Kyle slides them back in place. "Thank you," William says, softer, and worms his fingers into the waistband of Kyle's pants. 

It takes a few tugs for Kyle to get the hint, and then he's lifting his hips, thighs straining, to give William enough room to pull them down. It takes a minute, the two of them clumsy, Kyle's spatial awareness dulled by liquor and the fact that he's even allowing this in the first place. Luckily, William has _excellent_ hand-eye coordination and the next thing Kyle knows, his pants and boxers are down around his ankles and William's hair is silky between Kyle's fingers.

"Yeah," William croons, his breath teasing the tip of Kyle's dick. "Just like that."

Kyle whimpers and lets his head fall back, all the rest of him straining for William, waiting and wanting; William's mouth, his hands, his body.

William takes his time with it, first pressing a kiss to the head, then licking at the slit, followed by the glans. Testing, experimenting. A sound vibrates against Kyle's skin and he exhales, low, clenching his thighs to keep himself from thrusting up into it, seeking more. He tells himself this is William's show, that he can't take anything more than William is willing to give. That even _that_ will be too much, in the end.

His tongue darts lower, sweeping down and around, tasting Kyle with deliberate care. A small voice inside of Kyle's head suggests maybe this is William's first time, the first dick he's ever sucked, but Kyle can't let himself think about that, can't go down that road. And it's unlikely anyway; William is beautiful, stunning. Could have anybody he wants at any time. Denial isn't something Kyle's willing to entertain, not even for this.

A squeeze to Kyle's dick draws his attention back down, to see William sucking lazy kisses against Kyle's cock. His eyes are electric and demanding, and he pulls away only far enough to say, "You should watch me," in a low murmur. His lips are so close, the words seep under Kyle's skin, settling low and heavy into his groin.

"You're gonna kill me," Kyle mutters, eyes squeezing shut at the slight scrape of teeth. "Oh fuck, please."

William's eyebrows arch and flashes a lopsided smirk, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Please what?" he says, teasing.

"I have no idea," Kyle says in a surprising moment of honesty. Hiss brain is pretty well fried and this is just a hint of what's to come. Teasing flashes of heat. A clever, velvety tongue. William's hand is so big, his fingers long and warm, his grip firm at the base. 

William's chuckle is low and dark, short. Cut off by the slide of Kyle's dick into William's mouth.

It's at once nothing at all and everything like Kyle expected. Slick and hot, deliberate, stunning. William's intense focus narrowed down to Kyle's dick. Lavish is one word for it. Devastating another. He sucks on Kyle's cock with such quiet intensity, Kyle feels like his spine is being liquefied one slow slide at a time. And William's hands, his broad palms, are back on Kyle's thighs, his fingers ten firm points of pressure, urging Kyle's legs as wide they can go. The stretch hurts in the most delicious way, and Kyle has the wild notion of ten perfect fingerprint bruises, proof that Kyle did not, in fact, get blackout drunk and dream up this entire thing. 

He _has_ to be imaging the tickle of hair along his thighs, right?

The sudden loss of heat is a shock, but then William's hand is there, curling around Kyle's dick, a buffer between William's gutted cursing and puffy red lips. Still, Kyle feels the tease of William's tongue, darting in between his fingers, slipping lower and lower. Once William reaches the base, Kyle's panting, torn between the hints of slick warmth on his balls and the steady, maddening rhythm of William's thumb rubbing under the glans. Kyle groans, fighting the instinct to use his grip in William's hair to drag him closer.

William teases Kyle a little, alternating between mouthing at Kyle's balls and nosing at the seam of his hip, dragging his teeth along the skin, licking his way back up. His palm is a brand on Kyle's thigh, pushing it past the limits to make room for William to duck down lower and lower, tongue teasing Kyle's perineum. A breath gets caught in Kyle's throat and he whimpers, one hand freeing itself from William's hair to grab a thigh and find a more comfortable angle. 

The satisfied sound William makes in return can only be described as purr; his murmured 'perfect' a warm rumble pressed into Kyle's skin, settling into his bones. 

With a little more room to maneuver, William lavishes attention on as much skin as he can reach, while also keeping a slow, steady pace with his hand on Kyle's dick. It's the type of coordination he displays on the ice on a regular basis. Though here in the office, with his mouth sucking a spectacular bruise into Kyle's thigh, Kyle's more focused on the heavy, insistent throb than admiration. A second later, he yelps as William pinches a bit of skin between his teeth. His eyes are bright and playful, those white, even teeth caught on his lower lip, aiming for coy and missing by a mile.

"That's gonna leave a mark," Kyle rasps, not as admonishing as he wants it to be. 

"I know," William says, smile growing wider. His hands return to Kyle's thighs, using them to rise up as tall as he can. He keeps eye contact with Kyle the entire time, his smile fading as the moment stretches out, long and quiet. Even the noises from outside the windows don't register; for all Kyle is concerned, the only two people who exist are right here in this room, William's hair and Kyle's… _everything_ a mess. Kyle reaches to smooth it out, William tilting his head to meet him halfway. 

"Keep 'em there, yeah?" he says, quiet. His eyes are on Kyle's dick, but he's so, so still, waiting for an answer, Kyle must imagine the tiny tremors in William's shoulders, the tiny flex of his fingers.

"Yeah, I will." Kyle sinks into the couch a little, to ease the strain in his shoulders. It makes his dick sway toward William's open mouth and he takes it in, a warm, smooth slide all the way down to the base. It's all Kyle can do to stop himself from thrusting into it, his quads trembling from the effort. William doesn't make it easy; he just sits there holding Kyle in his mouth like it's nothing, like he could stay there all day. It's dizzying, the soft press of his tongue, the way his throat works around the head, how quiet and steady his breathing is. Then he hums and slides off until just the tip is in his mouth, and Kyle falls apart with a groan, his hands fisting William's hair to prevent him from going anywhere. William glances up, red-cheeked, and winks. 

Kyle huffs a disbelieving laugh.

William doesn't do that again and, if Kyle's honest, he's kind of glad William doesn't. He gets a hand around Kyle's dick instead and uses both it and his mouth to establish a rhythm William likes, something slow and relentless, drawing in Kyle like the best kind of undertow. The only thing keeping Kyle grounded is the grip he has on William's hair, William's erratic groans, and the wet sounds his mouth makes. Kyle focuses his gaze on the tease of William's shoulder blades shifting underneath his t-shirt and lets the rest of it wash over him, his orgasm winding tighter with every filthy slurp.

For long, hazy minutes, it seems as if William's settled in for the long haul. His pace never changes and he doesn't seem to have any other tricks up his sleeve, except maybe patience and a painstaking attention to detail. And Kyle _does_ want to come, but he also never wants to move. So it's a bit of a shock when William glances up, his mouth hanging open, and makes a show of tonguing Kyle's slit. It doesn't feel much like anything, but the larger picture of it — the tufts of William's hair spilling out of Kyle's fists; his dark lashes clumped together framing bright eyes; the wet, red shine to William's lips and the flicker of his tongue… 

"Oh, fuck," Kyle gasps as he comes, eyes sliding shut against the mess he makes on William's cheeks and chin. William eases Kyle through it to the end, his grip soft and coaxing. The last few spurts, he swipes away with his tongue, and then Kyle's dick is back in William's mouth, the light hint of suction making Kyle curse and shake. He lets it go on for a bit, William's hands petting Kyle's thighs while he sucks Kyle's cock clean, but it doesn't take long for it to become too much. It requires more concentration than Kyle currently possesses be gentle, to not beg and shove William to the floor. His come streaked across William's face doesn't help in the least.

But Kyle gathers what dignity he can and lets go of William's hair, putting space between the two of them. Five seconds in, Kyle realizes what a mistake that is: William eases himself from his knees, drawing Kyle's attention to William's crotch, and the thick bulge straining the zipper. Kyle's a mess and still has his pants somewhere down around his ankles, but he _wants_ ; William's dick in his hand or his mouth, to return the favor, to know what William tastes like. 

Neither of them seems aware of what's happening until a hand closes around Kyle's wrist, mere centimeters from William's fly. He glances up and finds William looking down, eyebrows furrowed, his free hand using the hem of his shirt to wipe at the last traces of come, near his ear. 

"Let me?" Kyle asks, his mind a little fuzzy, still. Slow and clumsy, focused only on what he wants now.

William shakes his head, fingers squeezing Kyle's wrist. "No."

"But you—"

"This isn't about me," William says, cutting off Kyle. 

"I want to," Kyle says, quiet. He sounds so young, so needy, Kyle struggles not to cringe.

William takes a breath and lets his shirt drop, Kyle's wrist, too. It looks like he's weighing the pros and cons, and Kyle suddenly wishes he were at least standing, able to put on his pants without it being awkward. Instead, he's stuck on the couch, his dick getting softer by the moment, feeling more exposed than he's ever been in his life. Fighting down a humiliated blush is impossible.

A knee drops between Kyle's legs, careful, and a sticky hand on his neck guides his face up. Before Kyle can say anything, William's mouth is on his, gently coaxing Kyle into the sweetest, most deliberate kiss he's ever been a part of. William's breath is objectively disgusting and Kyle's hands are greedy for skin he doesn't feel he has the right to, but the precision William has is overwhelming. It feels like it goes on forever, too. William finding new angles to take Kyle apart piece by shattered piece. 

It's a relief when William uses his weight and height advantage to tip Kyle back against the couch, Kyle vaguely aware of the breadth of William's hunched shoulders shielding Kyle from the light. Kyle's hands land somewhere around William's hips and cling to his sticky t-shirt, solid and grounding.

One kiss becomes two, with a handful of seconds to catch their breath. Even still, Kyle feels dizzy, wanting more yet knowing he's already in over his head. This is why he kept his distance, a wall neither of them could hurdle. It's one thing to imagine what William is capable of, what he tastes like. It's another to know it for certain; the specific weight of his hand and the devastating slide of his tongue.

The third kiss is the worst, easing into something soft and tender. Kyle tamps down a whimper and lets it wash over him, a sense of giddy recklessness he hasn't felt since he was a teenager, and William licks the breathless chuckle right out of Kyle's mouth. 

They kiss until Kyle's chest aches and his hands lose their grip. He tips his head back, eyes closed, and shivers as William's teeth drag over Kyle's chin. "Oh god," he sighs, dragging in a lungful of air. Somewhere in his hazy mind, he notices the light behind his eyelids getting brighter, the weight on his shoulders disappearing, but it isn't until Kyle hears a small metallic sound that he puts two and two together: the pause isn't for them to breathe or for William to get his pants open, he's about to leave the room. 

"William," Kyle says, opening his eyes. William is at the door, hand on the knob. Kyle watches the careful rise and fall of William's shoulders and again wishes he didn't have his pants down around his ankles. That he could go to William and say something, _do_ something. Not that he has any clue what those things could be.

William won't step back from the door. Won't turn around or even look at Kyle, and in that instant, Kyle's post-orgasm elation turns sour. "Please William, let me—"

He shakes his head and the door cracks open, breaking whatever spell fell over the room. "Thank you, Kyle," William says, and then he's gone, the door's subtle click a bomb in the silence.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [dizzzylu](https://twitter.com/dizzzylu) on Twitter.
> 
> *Nichole did not actually threaten my cat


End file.
